McDonald, Lawyer
by Sera
Summary: Short ficlet. Lindsey's obsessed with prefixes, Doyle sings a song, Cordelia makes mean comments, Angel says very little. This is one of the few fics where the characters stay in character.


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McDonald, Lawyer: An _Angel_ ficlet set way back in the first half of Season One, in the good old days when Glenn Quinn was still alive and Christian Kane had the usual number of appendages.****

Disclaimer: All characters featured here are copyright Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and a couple of other big companies who don't care if I use them anyway, since I'm not making any money out of this. I write purely for writing's sake, and the plot for this came wholly from my imagination.

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McDonald, Lawyer

An _Angel_ ficlet by Sera

"Angel, you have to understand," Lindsey said, pacing in front of the vampire's desk. "I joined Wolfram and Hart because I want to do something with my life. I want to go places." He slammed his hands on the tabletop, not far from where Angel had propped his feet up. "I want a title." Encountering no resistance from any of the other three people in the room (using the term 'people' loosely -- a be-souled vampire, a half-demon and the former bitch-queen of Sunnydale hardly qualify for peoplehood, in my opinion), he elaborated.

"What am I now? Lindsey McDonald. Lawyer. I can't be this forever. I need a title, a prefix to my name, that commands respect. People hear the extra syllable and instantly grovel before me. You see what I'm talking about? Sir McDonald." There was a short pause as Lindsey let the import of his ambition sink into the minds of his listeners. Then, with a reverent realisation, he added, "_Lord_ McDonald."

"Lindsey, you realise these titles are only available in England," Angel began. Lindsey cut him off.

"Exactly! Now that I have my diploma, I will leave Wolfram and Hart, move to England, start my own law firm. I shall work hard, make myself noticed, and in time… Sir McDonald, Lord McDonald…"

"I've got a better plan," Cordelia interrupted. "You want a prefix? Stay here, keep your six-figure salary. Save your energy. In thirty years, you can have 'Old' for free."

Angel chuckled at the disgruntled look on Lindsey's face. Doyle, perched on a small filing cabinet, immediately struck up a chord on an invisible banjo and began to sing;

"Old McDonald had a law firm, e-i-e-i-o!

The law firm's clients were nasty demons, e-i-e-i-o!

They killed people here, they killed people there,

Here a kill, there a kill, everywhere a kill kill,

Old McDonald had a law firm, e-i-e-i-o!"

He finished triumphantly, with a flourish, and looked around expectantly.

"Well," Cordelia said into the amazed silence, "Irish boy proves that he's an even bigger retard than I originally thought."

"Was that a racist comment?" Doyle shot back, hurt. "Because, if so, I'm going to call my lawyer." He looked to Lindsey for support.

"I'm not your lawyer," Lindsey protested.

"He's not your lawyer," Angel echoed, quickly.

"No," Cordelia replied patiently, in the sort of tone that adults use when they're talking to babies and young children, "Of course he's not your lawyer. You said in your song that he only caters to nasty demons. So that rules you out twice!" she concluded, grinning perkily. "Now, if you men will excuse me, I'm going home." She picked up her coat and purse, and disappeared through the door into the Los Angeles twilight.

"Aye," I think I'll go too," Doyle decided, easing himself off the cabinet. "Pubs should be opening around now."

There was an awkward pause in the wake of Doyle's exit. Irish-accented whistling floated back down the corridor to the ears of Lindsey and Angel.

"If you want a title, you could always get a PhD," Angel ventured.

Lindsey just looked at him, grey eyes unreadable. A mask had slammed back down over his countenance. The youthful earnestness with which he had described his ambitions was gone. He looked old now, jaded and weary.

"Good night, Angel," he said simply. Then he, too, was gone.

Angel stared after him in concern, resting his chin on his linked hands, brow furrowed in thought. What lay ahead for this man? He possessed both good and evil, and for the time being he was successfully balancing his lust for power with his conscience, but this equilibrium could not last. Eventually one side would triumph over the other. Angel did not know when this would happen, nor could he tell which side of Lindsey was stronger. He heaved a sigh and rose gracefully from his office chair.

"Good night, Lindsey," he said.


End file.
